


Copper Colored Quiet

by woakiees



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Mild Blood, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woakiees/pseuds/woakiees
Summary: "Thrown into the waves of grief, and then having to try to keep your head above the water long enough to remind yourself that it was all okay, that reality existed outside of what your mind was telling you."
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Copper Colored Quiet

“Don’t look.”

His voice was calm, almost eerily collected — a stark contrast against the panic moving through your veins with torrential, unparalleled force, the emotion so sharp it threatened to slice you open from the inside out until your fingertips dripped with crimson.

_Don’t look._

What a stupid, stupid request.

You wanted to scoff at his words, and maybe, if the context had been different, you would have. Maybe you would’ve yelled at him, or maybe you would’ve laughed. You could think of a scenario where you would have smiled at the two simple words, and one where you would have moaned. Another where you would’ve probably hit him.

But you were just _frozen_.

How could you _not_ look?

How could you look away from the man that you loved more than anything, your everything, when he was kneeling on gravel, the sharp edges of the small rocks undoubtedly cutting into his knees, with a blaster pressed firmly into the base of his skull?

How could he ask that of you?

_Don’t look._

You knew he was trying to protect you the only way he knew how, the only way that he could in that moment — and you also knew that it was killing him, not being able to do anything more than that.

Poe Dameron wasn’t familiar with being helpless, at the mercy of someone else’s hand, and the last time he found himself in a similar position, it was only himself he had to think about. He could bare his teeth, sink them into those holding his own mortality above his head and not think twice. But you were just five feet away, being shoved to kneel in front of him, and _Gods_ , you didn’t need to see this. You didn’t need your last memory of him to be some smart remark cut short by the sound of a blaster.

_Don’t look._

You couldn’t fucking look away. Couldn’t tear your own eyes away from his grief-stricken brown ones, even as they pleaded for you to. Even as he silently begged for you to just close your eyes, to just listen to him this one time, for the last time. You couldn’t do it.

It was so fucking selfish. He always knew he would be taken out like this — violently, fighting for a cause he believed so deeply in, fighting for something he loved, but he never would have thought he would go out begging. And you were doing that to him, making him beg, all because you were too selfish to follow his last command, his dying wish.

You couldn’t do it.

You couldn’t fucking do it.

“Don’t look.”

And then, a deafening shot.

Hot blood splattering across your cheek.

A body crumpling to the ground, a scream tearing through your lips, a sound you had no idea you were even capable of making, that _anyone_ was capable of making.

And then it was all just a blur.

You didn’t know how you escaped, who saved you, how you made it back to base. How long you had been standing in your quarters, your _shared_ quarters, staring at the blood that still caked your face, the bright red now a dull copper.

Did Leia know? Did Finn? BB? Had you cried? Screamed some more? Was this some sick, cruel, twisted nightmare that you just couldn’t wake yourself out of? Had it really been you at the end of that blaster, and you had been thrown into your own personal version of Hell, a punishment for all you had done wrong?

It had to be, because a world without Poe Dameron wasn’t one you could even begin to fathom.

One that you certainly didn’t want to live in.

But someone had taken your blaster, and you couldn’t remember if it was the Stormtroopers or if it had been whoever brought you back to your room, scared that your mind would fall to the exact place it was now.

You supposed that Finn _did_ know, because that was entirely something that he would do.

And as you sat on the edge of the bed, your eyes finally shut, _not_ looking, hands trembling, you figured it was him who walked into your quarters and gently grabbed your wrists — his hands were shaking, too.

You didn’t fight as he hoisted you up, didn’t have the energy to, even though all you wanted to do was crawl beneath the covers and…you really didn’t know what you wanted to do. You didn’t want to sleep, and you sure as hell didn’t want to grieve, because grieving made it real. Grieving meant that he really was gone.

You let him lead you into the ‘fresher, let him lift your tired body up onto the counter. You flinched, just slightly, when a warm cloth met your cheek, and part of you wanted to scream at him. That blood was all you had left.

But still, you didn’t fight. You let him wash the blood away, and you opened your eyes for just a second to watch that copper run crimson once more as it disappeared down the drain after he rinsed the cloth.

Your eyes closed once again when you let him lead you back into the room, and they remained shut as you let him slowly take your clothes off and pull you to the bed. He tucked you in beneath the covers, and you didn’t question it when he fit himself in right beside you, his arms encircling your body.

Didn’t question it, because it was familiar. It _felt_ like Poe. He smelled like Poe, was warm like Poe. He even ran his fingertips up and down your spine like Poe.

And it made you sob.

“Shh, I’m right here darling.”

 _Maker_ , he even sounded like Poe.

You scrambled, trying to push yourself out of his arms, trying to put as much distance between yourself and him as possible. It hurt, it hurt so fucking badly, you didn’t want this anymore.

But he wouldn’t let you go, refused to. His hands found your wrists again, and he wrapped his fingers tightly around them, shaking you just once, trying to break you free from your own mind.

“Look.”

You couldn’t.

“Open your eyes and look at me sweetheart. I’m right here, I’m okay. We’re safe.”

One of his hands found your chin, gripping it tightly between his index finger and his thumb, and you didn’t know why, but something about the simple action had you calming down immediately — convinced you to stop flailing and listen to him.

The brown eyes you were met with definitely didn’t belong to Finn. The tanned skin, the messy head of curls. It was all Poe, undeniably Poe.

You only sobbed harder, and he only pulled you closer, his hand weaving itself into your hair, his thumb stroking lovingly along the base of your skull — the same spot on his own head that should’ve been marked with a hole.

“I heard the blaster,” you cried, your voice shaking, hardly recognizable to Poe’s ears. He didn’t know if he had ever seen you so upset.

“It wasn’t his.”

“But-”

“Wasn’t his.”

All you could do was cry. You cried and you cried and you stared at him, refusing for the second time that day to take your eyes off of him, and Poe held onto you the entire time, whispering words of comfort into your ear that honestly didn’t do much.

What you had seen, what you thought you had lost, left you traumatized.

A part of you had died back in that street, a piece of your soul forever lost when you thought you would have to move through life without Poe Dameron.

You would need time, even though Poe was there, lying next to you, still alive and still breathing, you would still need time. Even if you had listened to him, even if you had closed your eyes, focused on the gravel beneath your knees instead of him, you would still be in this position.

Poe understood that, he understood it completely.

He understood the feeling of being so utterly relieved and yet still so entirely lost. Thrown into the waves of grief, and then having to try to keep your head above the water long enough to remind yourself that it was all okay, that reality existed outside of what your mind was telling you. He had been there before, with you.

You needed time.

And suddenly Poe felt like he had all of the time in the world.

For you, he always did.


End file.
